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A third-culture kid (TCK / 3CK) or trans-culture kid is"someone who, as a child, has spent a significant period of time in one or more cultures other than his or her own, thus integrating elements of those cultures and their own birth culture, into a third culture."

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Gràcia a Diós, I’m Home

There
is nothing I remember best than the day I arrived to my temporary digs in
Barcelona. Upon arriving at the address securing the printed e-mail, holding it
like a sacred scripture, I rang the doorbell and waited. My trusty goons (the
suitcases) sat on my flanks. Thieves are clever in this town as each of these
made for a difficult snatch and run. Seconds turned to minutes and my mind
wondered if I had fallen for a scam of sorts.

Across
the street on Carrer Gran de Gràcia,
a Movistar cellphone shop teased me, knowing very well I was in quite a pickle.
I picked up old Samsonite and his twin brother, dragging them to the store. I
was determined to purchase a prepaid phone to get connected to the grid. Being
jetlagged and somewhat underslept – for lack of a better word – my most
immediate need was to find a way to communicate with my supposed host in the
case my intelligence was erroneous.

Fifty
euros or so later, I was in possession of a sleek new cheap phone and was able
to dial up the number for the apartment I could easily see from inside the
store. I was immediately greeted with a friendly che or two, establishing initial contact. My new flat mate mentioned
that he had totally forgotten to tell me the doorbell was out. He said he’d
meet me at the door, so once we hung up, I proceeded back to the point I was
dropped off. My suitcases were getting much heavier each step I took under the
warm, humid, Catalan midday sun.

I
noticed the door to the street was now ajar, as my newest friend unlocked it through
the flat’s intercom for ease of access. Nice lad. As I nudged the door open
further using my patented hip shuffle, I could now see the hallway was dark as
night. Well, more or less, under the lens of the unknown and all that baggage
that usually follows along. I could only see the shade of a person coming down
and eventually he came to the light, welcoming me to Barcelona.

Carrer Gran de Gràcia in the nighttime. Pretty sweet, eh?

From
the street, the building itself seemed rather beaten up so I worried if I was
moving in to roach city. However, the young Argentinean gentleman had a great
sense of pride for his home. The apartment could have been a poster child for
an IKEA campaign (this is meant in a good way) or for a magazine on how to
maximize space in a small dwelling. Things were off to a good start!